


darken

by HollyJinx



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: M/M, Other, fun times until someone dies, slight hint at harrymort, teeny bit creepy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-20 22:40:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17631077
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HollyJinx/pseuds/HollyJinx
Summary: Harry ran.He didn't look back, arms pumping, fear fueling his legs faster than he'd ever gone. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, each breath expelled loudly from his frantically working lungs. He could hear blood-curdling screams behind him, and terror forced him forward. The voice still circled inside his head as it chanted his name; it was faster now, stronger.Panic, panic, panic.





	darken

**Author's Note:**

> a huge thank you to xand for editing this wonderfully, i love you honeybb

At first, Harry thought the black liquid was oil; he figured they had struck it rich, and that the Weasleys would be able to retire to a life of leisure. With this in mind, Harry started to contemplate all the ways they could spend the money. His first thought was that they might buy a bigger house, and that everyone would finally be able to live comfortably. He smiled at the idea. But, then he thought maybe they would want to do the most immediate thing, as a celebration: They would all go have a fancy feast at the expensive muggle restaurant in London, the one that Mr. Weasley always whispered a fond “someday” to his wife when she stared at it wistfully. Perhaps they could even fill their small, ceramic, cow-shaped jar they kept in the kitchen for storing spare change. As it is, each time they attempted to fill it, it depleted rather quickly. Emergencies, such as visits to St. Mungo's, and the necessities for Hogwarts supplies, would pop up and drain it. The jar had never been even half full. Mrs. Weasley would just smile and say they can always start anew. But, with the money from the oil, they could finally have their dream dinner!

 

Only, it wasn't oil.

 

The dark fluid rose from a small hole in the ground, created by Ron spectacularly driving his broom into the dirt while trying to catch the Snitch in a Seekers game with Harry and Ginny. The second he freed his broom from the earth, a pitch colored liquid began to bubble up. Ginny called for her parents, and the whole family came out to investigate. The black fluid began creeping from the hole as if it were thick and frigid, but it wasn’t. The liquid was thin, almost water-like… and smoking. They stood near the liquid as it pooled around them, reaching for their feet. Harry took a few steps back, and it was then that he heard the whispers. The voice came from nowhere, yet it surrounded him, coming from everywhere and nowhere at once. Harry covered his ears, the voice echoed in his head, wrapping around his mind it rasped his name over and over.

 

_ "Harry... Potter... Harry... Potter... Harry... Potter..." _

 

Harry closed his eyes and gripped his ears tighter, willing the voice to stop. He pleaded with nothing to make the wicked murmurs end. The others started to scream and crumple to the ground, clutching their own ears. Harry's eyes snapped open to see the sinister fluid advance towards Fred. Before he could shout at him to get back, it made contact. Fred's body turned rigid; Harry couldn't see his face, but it very likely mimicked his own horror as Fred's flesh began to melt into the liquid, his fresh skeleton being immediately devoured. The fluid left nothing behind but the image of a quickly decaying carcass sliding into a pool of black.   
  
It was moving faster now; less of a creeping, and more of a quick-darting slither.

 

Harry ran.

 

He didn't look back, arms pumping, fear fueling his legs faster than he'd ever gone. His heart pounded painfully against his ribs, each breath expelled loudly from his frantically working lungs. He could hear blood-curdling screams behind him, and terror forced him forward. The voice still circled inside his head as it chanted his name; it was faster now, stronger.

 

Panic, panic, panic.

 

The screams were being drowned, creating a hair-raising gurgling sound. Harry's legs shook uncontrollably as he worked to make as much space between himself and the, now fastly moving, nightmarish fluid. Harry's breath had been coming so quick, he hadn’t even noticed the smell. He did now. It was overwhelming, and he choked on it, covering his nose with a quivering hand. He struggled not to gag as he strained to keep his feet moving. The smell was unreal. Rotten, sour, absolutely putrid, the kind of smell that latched itself inside his nostrils and danced on his tongue, watering his eyes. It reminded him of roadkill in the hot sun and bile ejected from an empty stomach. He had no desire to encounter whatever made that kind of stench. Was it the liquid? It hadn’t smelled when it crept from the ground, not before now.

 

Harry tripped over something, a jagged rock cutting through the sod. He fell hard on his face, which forced his glasses into him with enough force they snapped in two, crunching miserably beneath him. His head ached where it soundly smacked into the grass. His tongue stung where it sharply mashed against his teeth from the abrupt collide with solid dirt. But, his terror was more prevalent than his pain. He lunged to run again only to fall once more. Frustration mixed with paralyzing fear as he opened his eyes to find empty darkness surrounding him. A warm, wet weight encompassed his body. The dreadful fluid had caught up to him, much more quickly than he could have imagined. His whole body froze as it contracted around him. His mouth clamped tightly shut as the vile stench worked its way through his nose. The voice inside his head came to a stop.

 

_ "Harry Potter." _

 

This time, it came from the darkness that held him. Recognition jolted Harry out of his frozen terror: he knew that voice. It haunted him, found him in his nightmares, lived in the back of his mind, constantly plaguing him. He knew this voice from the frequent encounters he shared with its owner, he knew this voice because it knew  _ him _ . It belonged to his own personal monster. Harry knew.

 

"Voldemort."

 

Harry felt the shadowy substance slither around his body. Constricting, not hurting, but moving. This was Voldemort, he knew that now. But how? How could this be the Dark Lord, this was nothing, this was emptiness, this wasn't even  _ human.  _ But, it was him. Harry could tell. He could feel it.    
He couldn’t understand, but it seemed  _ familiar _  to have this soft nothing wrapped securely around him. As if he was receiving a soft hug from someone who cherished him completely. His terror was gone, and his head and thoughts became fuzzy, clouded.

 

_ "Mine." _

 

Harry went cold.

  
And the darkness...  
the darkness was warm.


End file.
